My only consolation exists in memory

Dad, I think I want to keep writing to you.

Since you’ve lost your ability to coherently talk all of the time, our conversations have grown sparse and surface level.

Dad, I failed a class. She failed me because in my grief, I didn’t find time to do an eight page paper. You being on your deathbed wasn’t a valid excuse. I know you would’ve had more grace for me, but Dad, are you disappointed in me? Would you have expected more from me? I know you’re always proud, but right now I don’t see myself being something to be proud of.

Dad, I let someone walk away and come back. I know you’d hate that one. I think you’d understand if you were in my shoes. Instead of calling you, because I can’t now, I went to the bar. I know you’d hate that one too. I’m sorry. I needed to be held for those days when I felt cold and alone, and it was the first time my heart felt broken and I didn’t know what to do without you. I’ve never had to face the ache without you, and although I know it probably won’t be the last at this rate, as much as I hope it is, it hurt most to go through it knowing you wouldn’t wake me up with flowers, a bagel and coffee, and a reminder that I deserved better. I woke up alone, but the most alone I’ve ever really felt.

I’m starting to forget who you were before you got sick. We’re looking into end of life care, and that phrase devastates me beyond belief. Your organs are failing and your body has grown so weak that you can’t do most things on your own. It’s really hit me recently.

I used to look at songs to have our first dance to. We were never a family of dancers, but we had some rhythm  nonetheless. No matter what happens, we’ll never have that. You can’t use the bathroom unassisted, let alone stand up and dance with me. I’ve been blessed with some influential men in my life, but no one has ever come close to you, nor could they ever. Wind Beneath my Wings by Bette Midler has been a huge one for me recently. It’s simple, and it makes sense. I don’t know if you ever fully knew that you were my hero and everything I wished I could be, because I never quite told you and you always doubted yourself far too much. You truly were content to let me shine, and hid so much behind your smile.

I then think about the songs we’d dance to before we knew it was our last time. You’d dedicate love songs to me because you always said I was the love of your life. I’m beginning to think that you’re mine, too. Lean on Me by Bill Withers always sticks out, although the meaning has shifted now. Even when we’re both immobile, me emotionally and you physically, we’ve always had each other. I think that’s why it’s so mortifying to not have you anymore.

No matter what happens, you’ll never hold my children. Your arms aren’t strong enough and your health isn’t good enough to be in the hospital when I give birth. Those are moments where my only consolation is in memory, and I’ll have to do a lot of what I’m doing now- guessing what you’d want me to do. You’ll never be physically able to walk me down the aisle. Like many moments I’ve needed you, I’ll have to walk that path alone and trust you’re there in spirit.

Dad, I trust you’ll give me all the signs. I trust that you’ve given me enough of your brain that I won’t have to miss you now that you’re almost gone. It doesn’t make this easier. I miss you most, and I always will.

Dad, tell me I’m doing it right. Or at least, the best I could do. Show me somehow when words fail you. I need the arms that can’t hold me, I’m clutching on like a child.